Invitation to Pleasure: Open Invitation, Book 2 (2 page)

 
    
“But where’s all the emotional high in that
little checklist of yours, Virginia?”

 
    
Virginia shook her head. “That’s what I
don’t
want.” She’d had the highs, only
to have them snowed under by the lows.

 
    
“Look, I know you haven’t had the best of
luck in men.”

 
    
“The best
luck
?” She blew out a disgusted breath. “Thanks for putting it so
diplomatically, but I freely admit I used bad judgment.” She’d jumped into
marriage before she really knew the man she was marrying. Not just once, but
three damn times.

 
    
“Everyone makes mistakes,” Stacy said
sagely.

 
    
Virginia wasn’t about to go into the whole
thing again. Stacy had seen her through two of the divorces. “The important
thing is that Brett wants the same things I want.” Peace and companionship.
He’d had an unpredictable marriage to a volatile wife, and that was putting it
mildly.

 
    
“But you can’t give up fantastic sex
because it wasn’t on your freaking checklist.”

 
    
The sex
wasn’t
bad. It might not be earth-shattering, but it was good enough. Brett made love
the same way he entered a business meeting, civilized and controlled. She had
to admit, in his bed she was a bit controlled herself. He wanted calm and
serene, and that’s what she gave him. It was almost frightening to think of
giving more. She might actually start expecting more, and that would make her
vulnerable. In this marriage, she was not going to allow a speck of
vulnerability.

 
    
But Stacy didn’t let the issue drop. “Six
months, a year from now, you’re going to start wanting more. For God’s sake,
Virginia, you chose to spend your last night of freedom at a sex club
fulfilling your final fantasies. Don’t tell me you can live with boring,
comfortable lovemaking for the rest of your life.”

 
    
Once Stacy started talking about her
escapades at The Sex Club, Virginia couldn’t get the place out of her mind. It
was
true,
she wanted a last fantasy before settling
down with Brett. She just hadn’t realized Stacy would use that to needle her.

 
    
Stacy’s glance fell across the room, her
attention suddenly diverted, which pleased Virginia no end, since the
discussion had taken an uncomfortable turn. Following Stacy’s gaze, she spotted
a tuxedo-clad gentleman heading to their table. “Who’s that?”

 
    
“Jud McCord.”

 
    
Ah, the legendary owner of The Sex Club,
who catered to fantasy and affluence. Tall, with flecks of gray shot through
his dark hair, he was positively yummy. Not that Virginia wanted a yummy man
tonight. No, she had other plans for herself.

 
    
He leaned one hand on the back of Stacy’s
chair, his body bracketing hers, his gaze on her. “Ladies, I hope you’re having
a good time.”

 
    
“As always.
This
is bachelorette number one, Virginia.”

 
    
He smiled, all white teeth and gleaming
eyes, except that the gleam seemed a whole lot brighter when he was looking at
Stacy. “Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.”

 
    
Virginia felt a blush rise to her cheeks.
What must the man think that she was at a sex club the night before her
marriage? But then he owned the place, and he’d certainly seen and heard a lot
worse. “Thank you.”

 
    
He smiled,
then
turned the gleam back on Stacy, and the wattage went up. “Duty calls. Have fun.
Talk to you later?”

 
    
“Sure.”

 
    
They both stared at his retreating figure,
and what a figure that was. “He’s melt-in-your-mouth hot,” Virginia whispered.
“Have you...” She let her voice trail off.

 
    
Still watching him, Stacy shook her head.
“No. Some friendships aren’t worth screwing up simply for a good”—she tipped
her head at Virginia—“screw.”

 
    
As much as Stacy loved her matchmaking, she
steadfastly maintained she wasn’t the monogamous type. Yet Virginia sensed a
little sizzle between the two.

 
    
“That’s the last thing I’ll say on the
subject,” Stacy backtracked as if Jud McCord had never interrupted the
conversation, “except this. In your quest for stability and companionship, I
think you’re selling yourself short. And maybe you’re selling Brett short.”
Stacy
smiled,
a sultry, almost knowing smile. “I’m not
sure you know him as well as you think you do. I’d be willing to bet that man
has hidden depths.”

 
    
“What on earth gives you that idea? Just a
minute ago you said I was settling for something less than what I really need.”

 
    
“Well then”—Stacy spread her hands—“make
the most of what you are getting. Despite his sophisticated, urbane facade,
there’s something compelling in his eyes.
Like a banked fire
just waiting to rage out of control.”

 
    
“Give me a break. You couldn’t possibly
have seen that.” She’d brought Brett to one of Stacy’s cocktail parties. The
conversation had been polite and superficial. Stacy was imagining things.

 
    
Yet Stacy gave her a long look rife with
meaning. “You’ll never know unless you give it a shot.” Then she dropped her
voice to a seductive whisper. “Let him surprise you, Virginia. Let him make you
burn.”

 
    
Virginia’s belly crimped. She did want to
burn. But she had innumerable burn scars, and the risk of a repeat wasn’t worth
it. She’d let her sexual needs dictate her actions in the past and ended up
with disaster on her hands. No, she was happy with the relationship she’d
established with Brett. “I’m not—”

 
    
Stacy zipped her lip. “That’s all I’m going
to say. Now go enjoy the club. I know you’ve got plans.”

 
    
When they’d first decided on this sojourn,
Virginia had taken the club’s number from Stacy and made her own arrangements,
though she hadn’t told Stacy what they were. Nor had her friend asked,
respecting her privacy, at least on
that
subject.

 
    
Stacy glanced at her watch. “You’ve only
got until midnight.”
Which was the time they’d agreed to meet
back in the lobby.
“Go before Debbie shows up.” Stacy glanced over
Virginia’s shoulder.
“
If
she shows up.”

 
    
“What about you?”

 
    
“I’m enjoying the sights right here.” Stacy
looked pointedly at the dance floor where a woman was sandwiched between two
men, her dress around her waist,
one
guy taking her while
the other held her aloft.

 
    
Virginia’s pussy contracted. Beneath her
peach suit, her silk panties dampened. If she wasn’t careful, she’d drench her
skirt. Watching sex turned her on. Didn’t the idea of watching turn most people
on, even if they didn’t admit it? Tonight, she’d watched enough to feel desire
thrumming through her body like a vibrator on high speed.

 
    
It was time to stop watching and put her
plan into action.

 
    
It was time to burn, to use Stacy’s
terminology. Her last
time,
and Virginia was damn well
going to make the most of it.

* * * * *

     
Following
her without being detected was easy. There’d been that dicey moment when her
friend had turned his way, catching him off guard, but he’d ducked into an
alcove, and after that, it had been clear sailing. They didn’t examine faces
but bodies and positions, walking slowly, glancing in doorways,
rarely
looking back as if each new sight was more intriguing
than the last.

 
    
He’d realized, at some point in the
evening, that
she wasn’t going to turn around. As if she
sensed his desire and lured him in by pretending she wasn’t aware. He moved in
closer.

 
    
Her choice of attire might have seemed
circumspect to the casual observer, but the well-cut suit molded to her breasts
tight enough to reveal the bead of her nipples in profile. The knee-length
skirt formed to her backside, outlining each firm cheek as she walked, hugging
her contours, drawing attention to the delicate play of feminine muscle. She
strolled languidly, as if she expected men to see the hot-blooded woman hidden
beneath the elegant suit and neat knot of blond hair piled atop her head.

 
    
His cock knew. He’d been hard almost from
the moment he’d stepped inside the club, from the moment he saw her.

 
    
His greatest chance of discovery now was
when she started down the stairs, alone, her friend left behind in the bar. He
hung back in the shadows of the landing in case she noticed a flicker of
movement out of the corner of her eye.

 
    
But again, she didn’t turn.

 
    
She disappeared through the swing doors off
the lobby.
The viewing rooms.
She enjoyed watching.
He’d likely find her in the arena.

 
    
He took the stairs quickly, his cock
throbbing. Striding through the doors, he closed his eyes briefly as music
assaulted him, the strobe light beating against his eyelids as it flashed up
and down the hall from the room at the end.
The arena.
Where she could watch the stage show.
Perhaps it would
be a one-woman, three-man act, each filling a different orifice at the same
time. She’d like that. Her pussy would be dripping. He could have her then.
Bury
himself
in her. Make her scream when she came.

 
    
Opening his eyes, a flash of peach and a
silk-covered leg disappeared into a room on the left. So she wasn’t going to
the arena. It didn’t matter. He would have her. Here.
Where
her passions were at their peak.

* * * * *

 
    
Virginia felt him, almost smelled him.
A uniquely male scent oozing from his pores.
Salty like an
ocean breeze and hot like sweaty, sun-heated skin.
The scent
of a man just before he came in a woman’s mouth.

 
    
She couldn’t say how long he’d been behind
her. She hadn’t noticed him as she’d prowled the rooms with Stacy. But he was
closer now, bolder in his perusal. She didn’t look. She had no desire to
actually see him. It was like pulling alongside a sexy Jaguar XK-8 only to find
it was driven by a sixty-year-old woman or a pockmarked man with his paunch
hitting the steering wheel. The fantasy was so much better.

 
    
And tonight was all about fantasy. After
all, she’d have to live on this one night for the rest of her life. Better to
imagine him as hot as his scent.

 
    
Though she’d planned her evening at the
club long before tonight, her anticipation peaked when she’d felt him behind
her. He wanted her, his intent spiking the air. He’d do anything to have her,
only her. No one else would do.

 
    
Blossoming under his all-important,
consuming desire, she led him exactly where she wanted him to go.

 
    
Into the viewing area.
A large room filled with octagonal cubicles, a small window cut into each side
of the cloth-covered dividers. The long, rectangular cuts allowed only one
person to view, or a couple standing close. Overhead lights illuminated the
cubicles and kept the halls between in relative darkness. It gave a feeling of
privacy to the onlooker while the eight sides allowed the bed inside to be
viewed from all angles.

 
    
The cubicle occupants, be they couples,
threesomes, or loners, were there to be seen. Seen but not touched by their
audience. There were strict rules about not entering.

 
    
To be seen but not touched. Virginia was
getting married tomorrow. Despite what Stacy might think, she wasn’t here to
commit prewedding adultery. That wasn’t Virginia’s idea at all.